The Forest

The Voice of Wild

She pulled the covers up and surrounded him in the warmth of her arms, as she kissed him goodnight.

"Night mommy," he said.

"Tomorrow is a big day for you. You need to get your sleep and be rested so you're ready for your tournament. I'll turn off the light and play your music softly for you. Love you and have a good sleep."

"Love you too, mom." 

The moonlight crept in through a narrow break in the curtains framing his window and reflected off the trophies lining his shelf with achievement. Each, an idol of accomplishment, formed a cohesive team of statues of which he was proud.

It was the night before his soccer championship game and his team would be playing the top contender in the league. If they won, they travelled to state to compete in the finals. If they lost, they would each receive a trophy of recognition, forever trying to fit in with the team of others perched up on the shelf.

Every night before a big game, he would eat his favorite meal consisting of white rice, a unique blend of spinach & spices and roasted tofu. It was a confusing mix of flavors, especially for a twelve year old's palate but his go-to meal nonetheless. After dinner, he'd sit down with his mom and watch video clips from his past games and go to bed early, falling asleep to his favorite music.

His dog, Charlie, a chocolate and white Springer Spaniel, was nestled in between the bend of his legs with his chin resting on Jack's stacked knees. He was usually exhausted from a day of local hikes in the foothills surrounding the town where they lived. They were true buddies and most days they were inseparable.  Jack gently pat his dog on the head as Charlie glanced up giving a gesture of approval. That seemed to be the goodnight ritual each night.  The cat, he gave a salute instead that usually startled him with the quick movement.  The cat was perched atop the bookcase scanning the room for his next pounce but quickly retaliated back with an abrupt meow. Chance was a typical black cat with a few stray strands of white on his chest trying to make a birthmark.  He would jump down and cuddle with Charlie and Jack as soon as the lights went out, fading into the midnight blue comforter tucked neatly over the two.  

Together they all dozed off, each trying to fall asleep before the other started snoring. It usually wasn't long before they were off to sleep in dreams.  She stood there for a while admiring the moment with all of them huddled together in bed, turned off the light and rested in the comfort and security of love she felt.

Jack was an only child of parents who remained friends, making sure that he had everything he wanted, within reason.  Growing up modest, humble, respectful and confident were values of equal importance. They lived in a small mountain town in Tennessee just bordering the Blue Ridge Mountains. Their property hosted parties of wildlife that threatened their privacy, especially at dusk.  Coyotes, raccoons, owls and bats were frequent guests, all showing up with empty stomachs, looking for reasons to stay. The cat stayed indoors most of the time unless he found an exit through a ripped window screen or got the luxury of stumbling upon an open door. They were a rare breed of misfits that seemed to have one thing in common, our backyard. Every night the team would assemble and challenge us to staring contests. Their eyes lit up the garden and watched intently at a world that seemed so perfect to them, looking in from the outside.  Sometimes they even gave us a reason to feel important.  It was like having an extended family of protection that wanted to be included and accepted, just like us. Their music lured us to sleep each night. The whistling, hooting, rustling, crying and occasional growl or snarl was a symphony of songs they produced with a raw talent of confidence.  We missed them in the morning when the sun started to rise over the eastern ridge of the mountains. 

Jack started playing soccer when he was just shy of three years.  Over the next few years, he would develop into a remarkable player, partially due to his talent and mostly due to his effort.  He was the kid who wore his soccer ball like a ball and chain.  It followed him everywhere and he was very rarely ever seen without it.  And it wasn't the only sport he played but soccer was his life at the age of twelve.  

He was an extremely curious young boy, brave and daring but surprisingly cautious. Inherently, he knew his limits, pushed slightly beyond them, recognizing his achievement as a well-deserved reward.  His mind was constantly active but his words were thoughtful and even while asleep, he somehow managed to make sense.  

His mind often carried him into lands of the unknown to explore magical worlds filled with mystery and excitement. Sometimes small minds don't think so big but Jack had a mental reserve of imagery that often demanded his attention. It wasn't that he lacked a sense of reality, it was simply his way of bringing to life a conscious that gave him an anchor to humanity. And it was his sense of innocence, curiosity and vulnerability that demonstrated there is no path for the weak.